A Hobbits Tale - The White Wizard
by Goldenbrook15
Summary: There has never been such a thing as a natural born wizard. They were all created by the Valar. Well, one young hobbit is about to prove them all wrong. Impossible things can happen.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit. Nope, not me. **

**(points in another direction and looks around innocently) **

**Maybe you should check over there? **

**This is my first Hobbit Fanfiction so if I spell things wrong I'm sorry. This is an idea that my (very small and adorable) cousin gave me when we were watching the first movie over again. **

**If any of you are concerned about me publishing this before I have finished my other stories, don't worry, I don't plan on abandoning them. I just need a change of scenery for a while, if you get what I mean. I am still going to be working on my other stories, but this helps me take a break so that I do not hit road blocks as often.**

**I hope all you readers who follow me to the end will like this story. Just to warn you, though, I don't regularly update. **

**A Hobbits Tale – The White Wizard**

**Chapter One**

_Child of Magic_

Belladonna was a Took through and through. Her thirst for adventure was only exceeded by her protective nature. She was probably one of the best warriors that the Shire had ever seen. In her youth she had trained with the bounders, but the longing in her heart led her beyond the borders of the Shire.

That was why it came as a surprise when a young Bungo Baggins, a most respectable Hobbit, fell for her and fell for her hard. This was extremely odd, you see, because while the Tooks loved their adventures and the thrill of a fight the Baggins family was exactly opposite. They would rather stay by the warm fireplace and enjoy the comforts of home.

It came as an even bigger surprise that, after almost an entire year of Bungo following her around like a lost puppy, Belladonna said yes. They were married not even half a year later and Belladonna Took became Belladonna Baggins, though she never gave up her adventuring ways. She would leave for weeks at a time and upon her return would spoil the children of the town with her stories of what she had seen.

Their first child came unexpectedly for both Bungo and Belladonna, but they accepted it with a laugh and a smile. Nine months later Bilbo Baggins was born a healthy baby Hobbit. He had his mother's hair and features but his father's eyes. He was perfect in his parents' eyes.

There was only one thing that confused the elder Baggins. While birthmarks were not uncommon among Hobbits, the one they found on the base of Bilbo's back was strangely intricate. The swirling patterns formed a ruin that, even will all of Belladonna's traveling and all of the books Bungo had read, they could not recognize.

They kept the ruin hidden and put it out of their minds, though it did worry them. Ruins like that were usually found on those chosen by the Valar for a purpose. Many times those ruins appeared later in life when it was sure that they would travel the path that the Valar wanted them too. No Hobbit had ever had such a ruin.

They did not trouble themselves with it, however, and resolved to figure what it meant when Bilbo was old enough to understand.

Bilbo was a bubbly baby, fully of smiles and endless babbling of gibberish. He would sooner stick his toes in his mouth than scream. His bright blue eyes were the envy of every Hobbit who saw them. He also had his own bit of mischief, even as a baby, and there was no doubt that the Took's adventuring ways ran through his blood.

The years passed and Bilbo grew. He was always curious, asking question after question about the world around him. His parents tried their best to answer as many as they could, but could never keep up the endless stream of words that poured from his mouth. He loved the thought of adventure, and Belladonna would often tell him stories about the adventures that she had been on, though she had not left since Bilbo had been born.

Bilbo loved to play games like 'Slay the Dragon' or 'Escape the Trolls', even if he had to play alone because the other Hobbit children thought that he was weird. His long trips into the forest would often end with Belladonna trying to find him where he had hidden in the trees.

It was at the age of five that Bilbo started to show signs of something strange.

He had been playing in the forest like he did every other day when the wolf had found him. It was alone, thankfully, but dreadfully thin. Its eyes were glazed with madness and the moment it set its eyes on the small, seemingly defenseless Hobbit it let out a low growl. Bilbo had frozen in the middle of picking a flower for his mother when he heard it and his eyes flickered to the large, starving wolf.

The wolf didn't pause when it saw that the Hobbit had stopped moving. It leaped with a feral snarl at the small body, its mouth open and ready to bite down on soft flesh. It did not make it.

Bilbo had turned around and raised his hand instinctively. From his palm there was a pulse of blue that swept outward and hit the wolf mid-air. The angry eyes emptied and the limp body collapsed on the small Hobbit. For several moments there was silence before the body of the wolf shifted and Bilbo wiggled out from underneath. He stared at his hands for a moment and then at the wolf.

Had he done that? Bilbo did not understand why the blue light had appeared or why the wolf was no longer moving. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks as a soft sob wracked his tinny body and he lay down curled up against the wolf. That is where his mother found him an hour later.

Belladonna did not know what was troubling her child, though she did the best that could to understand. When he explained about the blue light her eyes had widened and she had started to mutter about 'gifts' and the 'Valar'. She made Bilbo promise to tell no one about what had happened in the forest or of the blue light. She explained that if some people knew they might try to take Bilbo away and use his gifts for themselves.

Bilbo promised with all the sincerity a five year old Hobbit could muster that he would never tell.

In the months and years following Belladonna taught her son everything that she knew, and even Bungo encouraged it. He knew the danger of someone finding out about what their son could do, and he feared for his only child. If learning how to wield daggers and shoot bows like a Bounder helped Bilbo protect himself then so be it.

There was only so much that a Hobbit could do though, seeing as their small, frail bodies were not made for fighting. Back in the Wandering Years, before the Hobbits had settled in the Shire they may have had better luck at defending themselves, but over time their bodies had lost the endurance that their ancestors had. The Tooks came closest to being like the Hobbits of old, and Bilbo was of their line in blood if not in name. He soon surpassed his mother in skill and began to practice controlling his gift.

Belladonna continued to search for the meaning of the ruin found on Bilbo's back, but it was not until he was almost of age that she came across a mention of it. It was the ruin for wizards. Every Istari had that same mark somewhere on their bodies. It was a sign that they had magic.

Bilbo practiced hard to use his magic, but no matter how many ancient texts that he read about it nothing worked. His magic was different from any others. The elves magic was mostly used in healing, Dwarves used it for sensing the stone that they crafted, and the Istari were the ones that were most obvious about it, their magic being the most powerful.

As the years passed Bilbo grew to understand his magic. Unlike the other magic users, he was more connected with his magic, and it with him. This also made him much more powerful than any other living magic user. He had no need for a staff to channel his magic, and it could react without him needing to command it. He was, in a sense, just as much a part of magic as it was of him.

No matter how many adventures his mother took him on, no matter how much he learned, the one question that burned in his very center was never answered.

Why him?

**3/19/15**


	2. The Fell Winter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hobbit.**

**Never have and never will. **

**Hello all my ****_precious _****readers. How are you doing this fine day? Up for another chapter? Good, because I wrote one and if you want to read it you can. If you don't want to read then what are you doing here? Shoo! Go criticize someone else's hard work!**

**(cackles like an insane person) **

**Anyone who is left want a biscuit? I promise I didn't poison them . . .**

**. . . much. **

**Now that my babbling is over, why don't you read the chapter? Oh, and review please. I never get as many reviews as I get views. It makes me sad and think that it might be better to just leave the story without updating for a couple months.**

**Then again I'm not than mean.  
**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**A Hobbits Tale – The White Wizard**

**Chapter Two**

_The Fell Winter_

Those that survived called it the Fell Winter.

It had come as a surprise to the entire Shire. The early freeze was followed by heavy snowfall that lasted for several days, trapping many Hobbits in their homes. The old and the young were the first to fall ill from the cold and sickness ran rampant with little to nothing stopping it.

On a hill just a little way from town was Bag End, home of the Baggins family. Inside the fire burned low as Belladonna carefully laid a cool cloth on her husband's forehead, wincing every time a loud cough wracked his body. Beside her Bilbo watched his father with worry.

"He has been sick for a week Mom," Bilbo said softly, fear lighting up his eyes, "Do you . . . do you think that he is going to get better?"

Bilbo could not imagine a world without his father. Who would read to him from the ancient texts that his father enjoyed so much? Who would smile at him every morning and tell him that he was 'looking like a fine Baggins'? While his father had not been as much of an influence on him as his mother he still loved him, and that is what counted.

Belladonna sighed as she dipped a wet rag into the small bucket of melted snow at her feet. Her eyes were dark with worry and the lines on her face showed just how stressed she was. "Everyone has their time, Bilbo," she explained softly, "And sometimes . . . sometimes those we love are taken from us early."

Bilbo was no stranger to death. The wolf that he had killed being the first of many deaths that he had seen. Old Cousin Jerry had passed not two summers ago in his sleep and Bilbo had many, many relatives who had disappeared on adventures and were assumed dead, but this was different. For the first time he was facing the prospect of losing someone that he loved.

"Is there anything that I can do?" his voice shook like a small child's, though he had not been much of a child for a long time.

His mother shook her head and when Bilbo met her eyes he could see the hopelessness he felt reflected back at him.

"You can't, Bilbo. Your magic can heal open wounds to a point . . . but to pull poison from the body is something that is beyond you," her voice choked slightly and she took a deep breath. Bilbo could see the tears she was trying to hold back. "Oh, Bilbo . . ." she let out a sob and threw herself in his arms and he tried to comfort her.

Bilbo held her as he felt her tears soak his shirt. Beside them his father let out a loud, wet series of coughs that shook the piled blankets from his shivering form. Belladonna calmed herself down after a few moments and pulled away, wiping her eyes. The only traces of her break down were the puffiness of her eyes and the occasional sniffle. She turned back to the bucket and picked up the rag again to wipe Bungo's forehead.

"Sorry," she said, "I'm just . . . having a hard time, is all."

Bilbo nodded awkwardly and looked toward the dyeing fire. It would soon be burned down to little more then warm embers and their chopped wood supply was running low. The winter had come on too quickly for them to properly stock up on supplies. His mother usually was the one to gather wood when they needed it during the winter but she was to busy taking care of his father so the task fell to him.

"I understand," he said to his mother, though he really didn't, "The fire is going down. I'm going out to get more wood."

Belladonna nodded and looked at him, "Be careful. Who knows what else this storm has brought with it."

Neither of them realized just how true her words were.

The door had to be forced open because of the large amount of snow that had piled up against it, one of the disadvantages with living underground. With a small amount of magic Bilbo had cleared the snow just enough to get out the door without being buried. He shivered as his bare feet touched the cold snow.

Hobbit's feet were naturally thick and could withstand a lot. Normally the cold would not affect them; however, because of the amount of snow it was extremely hard to keep the water from soaking his feet hair and freezing. While the bottom of their feet were tough and not easy to cut the top was the exact opposite and as such many hobbits did not like getting their feet wet in the winter.

Bilbo wished that they had a pare of boots that he could wear. Sadly, Hobbits did not believe in wearing shoes and so there were none to be found anywhere in the Shire that would fit their feet.

As Bilbo heft the small ax onto his shoulder and continued forcing his small body through the snow he could not help but wonder if any of the other Hobbits were having similar problems to them. They had lost contact with the rest of the town when the snow became too dangerous to wander far. Even on days where the sky seemed to clear for a little while there was no telling when a blizzard would sweep up randomly and bury and unsuspecting Hobbit in their snowy grave.

Bilbo's thoughts turned back to his father, who hardly spoke since he had fallen ill. He had not told his mother yet, but he knew that his father was fading. The small ball of light that he could always sense in a person had started to flicker and he knew that it would not be long until his father passed. It hurt him to realize that, even with all of his power, he could not save his father.

Around him the snow continued to fall, erasing his tracks faster then he could made them. The woods were not far from their home, but in a snowstorm it might as well have been a mountain away. Bilbo could not see more than five feet in front of him and the snow was starting to come down harder. He knew that he should turn back, but he could not, not yet. He could not face his mother and father with the knowledge that he was going to be one parent less in a matter of days, if not less. That and they needed the firewood.

A tree suddenly loomed out of the snow drifts, tall and immovable and unchanging in the daunting weather. Its dark bark contrasted against the pure white of the snow swirling around it, making it easier to see. Bilbo let out a silent sigh of relief. The sooner he got the wood, the sooner he could get back to the safety of him home.

He quickly entered the shelter of the trees, where it was harder for the snow to fall through the overhanging branches. Bilbo quickly found one tree that was small enough that he would be able to cut it down and haul most of it back without too much difficulty. His cold fingers gripped the leather handle of the ax solidly, even though they were numb and he could not feel anything.

Bilbo brought the ax up and then swung down, biting deep into base of the tree. If he used a little magic to force the sharp blade deeper then it would have gone no one was there to say anything. It took only a few more hits before the tree gave a small creek and began to tip. The small amount that still remained to attach the bottom of the tree to the top slowly tore and the tree toppled, landing with a dull thud in the deep snow.

A puff of air slipped past Bilbo's lips and he watched as the moisture in it froze into a visible form before disappearing. His arms ached slightly from the effort as he stepped forward and began to cut the tree into smaller, more manageable peaces that he could drag home with the ropes that he had brought with him. Despite his best efforts, he could only get about half of the tree cut and tied before his magic swelled in protest, silently telling him that he could take no more.

Bilbo let go of the ax and shook out his fingers which he suspected were turning red with the beginnings of frostbite under the thick gloves that his mother had knitted. He carefully put the ax inside it's holder and grabbed the rope that was tied to the makeshift sled which carried all of the wood. The rope was looped over his shoulder as he began the journey home, trying to ignore the shivering of his limbs.

Out of the cover of the trees, the snow was falling harder and thicker. Bilbo forced his feet to continue trudging through the snow, letting his magic guide him as his eyes were useless. The silence of the Shire was something that made him weary. Hobbits were naturally active creatures and to not run into one in the entire journey was unnerving, but sadly understandable with the weather.

Of course, the snow should not have stopped the Tooks from venturing out. With their seemingly fearless ways they never hesitated to venture into danger if it meant protecting their families. His mother was a born Took, and he had seen it in her many times. There should have been one of them trying to visit Belladonna to see if she was alright.

And yet he had not seen one of them.

Biblo's body gave another shudder, the cold seeming to seep deeper into his bones with every step that he took. His magic pulsed softly, warming him a little, before nudging him back onto the trail that he was attempting to follow, but which he could not find a trace of.

Then the silence was broken.

A howl, long and low, echoed through the Shire, a sound that had not been heard for many generations. Several more followed. It was a pack, and they were hunting.

Then there was a scream. A Hobbit's scream, one which cut off moments later in such an abrupt manner that it could only mean one thing.

The wolves had gotten them.

**Dun, Dun , Dun . . .**

**Just so you know, I don't update regularly, so don't expect another chapter tomorrow.  
**

**Review! Please?**


	3. The Hunt

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hobbit.**

**A Hobbits Tale – The White Wizard**

**Chapter Three**

_The Hunt_

He curled around the still form of his mother, his body trembling in silent sobs. The snow around him was stained scarlet from the sunset, but it did not seem beautiful now.

He had been too late.

Bone and ash littered clearing as well as the charred trees were testament of how he had tried and failed. He had been too far away when the attack had happened, when his mother had been cornered by the first of the Orcs.

Bilbo knew that it was not his fault, but he still felt like if he had tried harder, used his magic sooner, maybe things would have been different.

Maybe his mother would still be alive.

It had all started with the wolves. The creatures had been starving and when the river had frozen it had provided them with access to a large amount of helpless food. Hobbits were not a fighting people, and as such they were not prepared for the wolves. Hundreds died and disappeared when they wandered too far from safety.

What followed the wolves, though, was even worse. Orcs were creatures that the Hobbits thought only existed in stories. They were wrong.

His mother had claimed that she was going out to collect food, but Bilbo knew it was really so that she could grieve alone. His father had died in his sleep earlier that morning, and his mother had needed some time alone.

When she had not returned after almost an hour, however, Bilbo had gone looking for her. By the time he had found her it was too late. She had been protecting a group of children, who had wandered to far from their homes, from the hideous creatures that he could only assume were Orcs.

He had been too late.

As tears dripped down his cheeks and sorrow filled his being Bilbo vowed that he would become stronger, strong enough that he would be able to help those who could not help themselves.

He would not allow himself to be helpless again.

0~o~0

White knuckles clenched around the darker wood of the bow as the small, hooded being knelt to examine something on the ground. He was too small to be a human but at the same time his form was not that of a dwarf.

He was, in fact, a Hobbit, a Hobbit very far from home.

Bilbo frowned as he traced the large tracks of the Orc that he had been following for the past several months. After the fatal attack on his mother he had been determined to take his revenge on the Orcs that had killed her but were to fast to escape his wrath.

He had not been prepared for life in the wilderness. It had been hard had first. He had not known how to get food when there was no food source around, but desperation is one of the best teachers. He learned quickly which plants were edible and which were not. He learned to always carry one of his weapons with him at all times.

He also learned to trust nothing except his magic.

The few that traveled the back paths were far from honorable. As a Hobbit he had been naïve about what people were really like and the first person he had invited to share his food with had tried to kill him for said food. After that he had been wary of anyone and anything, watching and observing but never being seen.

The cloak he wore was one that he had been given to him by his mother. It was meant for traveling and Belladonna had said that she hoped he never had to use it. She could never have foreseen what had driven him to this.

Though Hobbit's were generally peaceful, Bilbo's mother had been a Took and as such she did not believe in refusing to learn to fight just because no one attacked the Shire. She had taught him many forms of fighting that she had learned in her days of traveling, including knives, bows, and blow darts, all of which a Hobbit could handle without needing to be overlarge.

Bilbo could never be more grateful for what she had taught him.

Now, months after her murder, Bilbo knew he was coming close to the end of his journey. The last few weeks the forest around him had become steadily darker and many times he had to fend off large spiders. The very shadows themselves seemed to be watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He knew he was coming close to where the Orcs came from.

Bilbo unconsciously pulled the dark cloak tighter around his small form in hopes of some comfort. The Orc he had been trailing had joined a much larger pack, from what he could tell. The small clearing he was in now was a campsite just hours ago.

He was so close he could almost smell them.

Bilbo didn't know what he was going to do once he found the pack of Orcs. His magic was as of yet uncontrolled and messy. He could just as easily hurt himself at this point. Having not meditated in several weeks also contributed to the chaotic feeling of his magic. He knew that if he attempted to use his power now he was just as likely to blow the entire forest off the map as he was to kill the Orcs.

As he had grown older his magic had increased, but over the past few months it was as if something inside of him had been unlocked. The magic coursed through him at all times, whispering to him about things that happened and things that were going to happen though it was not often that he could make out what it said. Right now it gave him the feeling that something was _wrong _about this place.

To his magic it was as if the entire forest had been drenched in tar and that everything around him was an illusion. Under the ground black roots withered and grew hardened, as if trying to hold off the taint for as long as they could. The trees themselves were little more then skeletons stretching their bony fingers into the sky in hopes of a relief they knew would not come.

The place felt _dark_ and Bilbo didn't know why. The forest was sick, he could feel it in his Hobbit bones, but it went so much deeper then that. Something was _making _the forest sick and he had the bad feeling that the Orcs were leading him right toward it.

He followed their trail silently, the forest pressing down on him harder then it had been for the past several days as he neared the heart of the sickness. More tracks merged with the first group two hours in, bringing the total up to fifty. Bilbo knew that he could not take that many on alone but he could not bring himself to stop.

He had been born with magic, and as such it was his duty to at least try to eradicate the evil that loomed over this place. There was nothing for him to live for any way. His father was dead and his mother followed soon after. The only thing that kept him going was his revenge and as he drew closer and closer to his destination the dread that had lodged its way into his heart thickened.

Unexpectedly the ground dropped in front of him, showing a steep slope that would be difficult to navigate his way down. It was not that which stopped him in his tracks, though.

It was the enormous, seemingly abandoned fortress that loomed out of the depths of a chasm. A single stone bridge was the only entry and exit from the stone castle. On the bridge he could see the movement of several large, disfigured creatures as the lumbered across. Orcs.

Bilbo knew of this place, though he had never really believed that it had existed. Rumors of the great fortress of Dol'Goul Dor was little more then a whisper in the Shire, but he had come across it in books on history and such.

Never had he though that he would actually find the dark palace.

At the head of the pack of dark creatures was the largest Orc that Bilbo had ever seen. Unlike the others one of its hands was cut off and replaced by a hideous, razor sharp claw. Its skin was white and littered with scars. Many of those scars were arrayed in a pattern, indicating that they were self inflicted or purposeful.

Bilbo felt sick to his stomach. His original plan was to corner the Orc that had killed his mother would not work here. He doubted that he would make it very far before he would have to confront whoever was in control of this place.

But at the same time . . . the Orc's had attacked the Hobbits of the Shire, the most peaceful, war fearing people that one could ever meet. Who was to say that they wouldn't do it again? What was their purpose? What was their leader planning?

To go in was suicide, but to not even try was failing. Bilbo refused to fail. He had to know what was going on, he had to be able to protect the people from this evil.

Taking a deep breath Bilbo made his way downward, watching the patrols carefully so that he could slip across the bridge without being noticed. The ground underneath his feet crumbled like dust as he tried to find grip on the flaky soil.

The bridge was stone, but that didn't stop Bilbo from shivering as he avoided the large holes where chunks of the stone had been ripped away. The darkness of the chasm beneath didn't help either. Carefully edging his way across the narrow path to the entrance he couldn't help but wish that he wasn't here. His magic churned nervously inside of him as a warning.

The entry was also crumbling, as was the rest of the fortress, and from what he could see brambles had grown up around the pillars and walls in prickly warning to stay away. Bilbo made his way through the stone passages to where the most noise was coming from, keeping close to the ground and as small as possible. For once his small size was useful for something.

The roofless hall opened up in front of him and Bilbo pressed himself against the wall as he heard the gurgling voices of the Orcs. It was something that he had overlooked. How was he supposed to know what they were planning if he could not understand what they were saying?

As if in response his magic tingled over his ears and the voices became clear.

_"Master, the attack on the half creatures was successful. They are weakened. If we travel back now we can finish them off!" _The grating voice caused Bilbo to shiver in revulsion.

_"No!" _a second voice hissed firmly. The growling and snapping of the wargs that the Orcs rode quieted momentarily before starting up again, this time quieter then the first, _"There . . . was something there. Magic hung around that place. If you had stayed longer then you would have been destroyed. I can not afford to loose so many while we are yet few."_

There was a lull in the conversation as both sides thought and Bilbo held his breath, willing them not to notice him. He could not see into the opening and he hoped that they could not see him in return.

_"The magic is a problem . . . it must be gotten rid of, and soon. Find its possessor and _kill_ them," _the second voice, who Bilbo assumed was the 'Master', growled.

Bilbo closed his eyes in horror. The magic that they were talking about was him. Because of his presence the attack on the Shire had been stopped, but only temporarily.

_"As you wish, Master," _the original said and Bilbo heard him turn and snarl, _"Come, Naga, it is time to hunt."_

Panic seized Bilbo as he realized that the Orc who had been talking was going to be coming his way. Scrambling backwards he looked around for a place to hide. A single loose stone slipped from under his foot as he moved and clattered down into the opening below. Instantly, all sound stopped.

Mind going blank in terror Bilbo felt his body freeze in response to the unnaturally loud sound of the stone rolling to a stop. Suddenly, there was a pulse of magic, dark and thick, that swept across everything. There was no avoiding it.

Magic screaming in pain Bilbo felt his body collapse as the darkness, now aware of him, pressed down on his weak, small form. He could see nothing but the black magic that surrounded him and distantly he could hear his own voice screaming. Voices bombarded him, dark, angry, and menacing.

_"Intruder in our midst, unwanted, filth, _magic . . ._" _Bilbo whimpered and thrashed as his magic fought desperately against the force trying to break into his mind. Distantly he felt rough, large hands grab his arms and lift him forcefully from the ground. Each hand was as large as him arm and never had he felt so small before.

Carrying him forward the Orcs holding him pushed him into a kneeling position and let go. Briefly the darkness lifted as the dark magic receded, leaving him trembling and helpless. Blinking the spots from his eyes he lifted his head to look up at his captors. Though his eyes were still slightly blurry from the mental attack Bilbo could make out the white form of the Orc he had seen when he had first encountered the fortress.

The Orc looked down at him with surprise and distain. After a moment of silence an evil grin broke out across his cracked lips. _"Is this the one that you spoke of, Master?" _the Orc asked with a sneer in Bilbo's direction.

Bilbo tried to move, tried to do anything, but it felt as if he was weighted down by some invisible force. Even his magic was sluggish as it attempted to come to his aid.

_"Yes . . . this is the one. I can _taste _the magic that it has. Such powerful magic. It will be a perfect addition to our troops. Stand aside, Azog, I wish to see this sorcerer."_

Sneer still in place the white Orc stepped aside and for the first time Bilbo caught sight of the black, swirling void that hung in the air. Vaguely humanoid, there was no doubt that this was the source of the death and decay of the forest around him. A shiver of pure revulsion wrecked the Hobbit's small frame.

The being laughed, or what Bilbo could only guess was a laugh, _"Bow to your new master, Halfling, your about to join our ranks."_

A necromancer.

Bilbo's last feeling was that of absolute terror before the darkness was back, crushing at his body and mind, and then everything went black.

**0~o~0**

**Thank's to the two** **people who reviewed this story so far. This is my first Hobbit fanfiction but I was kind of expecting a better turnout. I guess people just don't look at Hobbit as much as they do the others. **

**If you want the next chapter up faster I would suggest more reviews, even if they are flames. If you dislike this story then ****_say so_****! And then tell me ****_why! _**

**Sorry, I may be a little angry at the moment, hence the cliffhanger. I do those when I'm angry or irritated.**

**Anyway, happy summer every one! (Mine started today because they decided to extend school all the way into June. Joy.)**

**Review please!**


	4. The Necromancer

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hobbit.**

_Previously:_

Sneer still in place the white Orc stepped aside and for the first time Bilbo caught sight of the black, swirling void that hung in the air. Vaguely humanoid, there was no doubt that this was the source of the death and decay of the forest around him. A shiver of pure revulsion wrecked the Hobbit's small frame.

The being laughed, or what Bilbo could only guess was a laugh, _"Bow to your new master, Halfling, your about to join our ranks."_

A necromancer.

Bilbo's last feeling was that of absolute terror before the darkness was back, crushing at his body and mind, and then everything went black. 

**A Hobbits Tale – The White Wizard**

**Chapter Four**

_The Necromancer_

It was the shifting of gravel near him and the hard, cold stone under his cheek that alerted Bilbo to the fact that he was not, as he had been expecting, dead.

In fact, from the massive pounding in his head that felt like a dwarf had taken a hammer to his head over and over again, he was very much _alive_. He was in too much pain not to be.

"Ah see you finally awake. Took you a while," Bilbo startled, trying to push himself up at the unexpected words, but collapsed with a loud groan when his head throbbed even harder in response to his movement.

Whoever it was snorted, "You don't look to good. They did quite a number one you, youngling. Put up and impressive fight, though; I don't think the Orc's have ever been so fidgety about a prisoner."

Bilbo blinked, trying to get the spots from his eyes. The longer he was awake the more aware he was of his magic, which was sluggish and slow to respond. Forcing himself to his knees he glanced around with a frown.

It looked like he was in some sort of hanging cadge, hung over the cliff. He couldn't see the bottom. The bars were rusted metal and it was possible that he could break them without using magic, which didn't want to respond at the moment, but he didn't want to go plunging down into the abyss.

The final, and slightly surprising, conclusion to his observation was his fellow prisoner. He was an older dwarf, by the looks of his light grey hair and tired eyes. He had his own hanging cadge just a little way down from Bilbo's own.

Deciding that the best source of answers was the dwarf Bilbo directed his confusion toward him, "Do you know what happened?"

The Dwarf shrugged, "From what I could see, youngling, part of their fortress exploded out all the way into the forest. It was so big I could see it all from right here," he chuckled, "And as of the last couple years I haven't been able to see hardly anything."

The dwarf smiled slightly at him, "It was a spectacular show."

The words ended in a rough, irritated cough that jarred the entire dwarf's cadge into swinging back and forth.

Bilbo blinking at the harsh sound and frowned, "Are you all right."

The dwarf waved his hand in dismissal as the cough softened to a wheeze, "It comes and goes. Nothing is ever truly healthy after spending a while here."

"And how long have you been here?"

The Dwarf shrugged again, "forty or fifty years, give or take a few. They found me not long after the battle of Moria and I haven't been able to escape yet."

Bilbo nearly felt his mouth unhinge. The battle of Moria had been what, sixty of seventy _years _ago? That was long time to be in a prison. In fact, why were they even keeping him alive?

"Why do they keep you around?" Bilbo asked, curious.

The dwarf looked away sadly, "I have information that they desperately want, but I refuse to give it to them," he shifted slightly and Bilbo's eyes widened as he realized that the dwarf had no right hand, "no matter how much pain they put me through."

"I-I'm sorry," Bilbo ducked his head as a shudder went through his spine. If this dwarf had been put through so much just for _information_ then what would they do to _him?_

As if sensing Bilbo's distress the dwarf's eyes softened, "Don't worry lad," he spoke kindly, "No matter what happens I'll help you through it."

Bilbo shuddered again, shutting out the vivid imaginations of his mind, "Thanks . . ." he took a deep breath and looked up at the dwarf with determination. He _would _make it through this, and he _would _escape, even if he died trying, "My name is Bilbo by the way."

The dwarf grinned and waved his one good hand in a slightly deranged manner, "Nice to meet you, Bilbo. You can call me Thráin."

0~o~0

Bilbo didn't realize until much latter just how much Thráin's imprisonment had effected the old dwarf. On good days the dwarf was up and energetic, ready to talk and comfort him when he came back from his 'sessions' with the Necromancer. He had come to find the he relied on the dwarf to keep him from submitting. If the dwarf could do it, then he could too.

On the bad days however, Thráin was incoherent. The dwarf would curl in on himself, hugging his knees while he muttered nonsense and stared off into the distance as if he could see things that no one else could. Often, the old dwarf would confuse Bilbo with someone else.

This was how Bilbo came to know about Thráin's son, Thorin.

Sometimes Bilbo wondered what had happened to Thráin's family and why he always spoke of them in such broken tones. Then he would look around him and remember exactly where they were and what had probably happened to them.

He didn't have the heart to ask, and Thráin never volunteered the answer to his internal questions.

"Thráin," Bilbo spoke up from his cage, turning his gaze from a new cut on his shoulder to look at the slightly insane dwarf. He had just come back from another questioning from the Necromancer and he wasn't feeling that great, but he knew he had to ask, "Do you think that we are ever going to get out of here?"

Thráin stopped humming for a moment, his eyes clearing in a moment of clarity as he turned to Bilbo with determination glowing in his eyes, "Do you want to escape?"

Bilbo hesitated for a moment and glanced down at his many, _many_ scars. If he did make it out, doubtful as that would be, he would never be the same Hobbit that he had been back at the Shire. He was too hardened, he had seen too much, but what other option did he have? Death? Giving in to the Necromancer?

Licking his dry, cracking lips Bilbo met the older dwarf's eyes, "Yes, I-I do want to escape."

Thráin smiled brightly, "Then you'll find a way."

His speech done, Thráin turned back to his humming staring off into space as Bilbo settled down for another long night. As the words sank in he turned his speculative gaze to the dwarf who had helped him so much in the past few weeks. He had been here for a long, long time . . .

Did Thráin want to escape?

. . . Or had he accepted that he would never make it out alive.

Feeling his breath hitch at the thought Bilbo turned away. He had grown to regard the other as a second father and he didn't want to lose him just yet. Determination burned within him; no mater what happened he was going to get Thráin out of here.

0~o~0

"Bow to your master, Halfling!" a tall Orc shoved Bilbo onto the hard stones before the swirling mass of darkness.

Bilbo gritted his teeth angrily as he bit back his automatic snarl of "That monster is _not_ my master!" He had learned after the first several 'sessions' that is was better to remain silent through whatever happened.

Actions spoke louder than words, and words always got you hurt. His silence was his own form of defiance.

The swirling darkness above him seemed to pulse even faster and Bilbo began to feel nervous. Something was . . . different. Bilbo had yet to see Thráin that day. He had been taken away for questioning the night before and had yet to return. This was unusual as normally the old dwarf would have been returned to hid cadge alongside Bilbo's after a few hours.

Bilbo pushed down his nervousness, however, and glared up at the cloud of blackness. A trail of blood trickled through his lips where his lip had spit due to the cold and lack of water.

As expected, the wave of darkness crashed down at him and Bilbo shut his eyes gasping slightly as he felt the pure evil pressing at him from all sides. If he hadn't already been kneeling then he would have crumbled. His magic, weak from the constant battering day after day, rose to the surface in defense.

Even his magic, however, could not protect him from the vicious words.

_Halfling, and not even a full grown one . . ._

_Weak, oh so _weak_, you don't deserve this power. _Give up_ . . ._

_Your own parents didn't understand, and then they left you . . ._

_No one else will accept you if they knew. Your magic is a _curse_ . . . _

_Give in to us . . . _

_Give _in _to us . . ._

_Give in-_

**_No!_**

Bilbo gasped crumbling forward as he felt his magic start to speed up, something it had not done since his first encounter with the Necromancer. His arm, legs, and head burned as his heart began to beat faster in response to his magic. More magic than he had ever known he had channeled through him, burning like fire his blood as it circulated through his body. Too much . . .

With a scream the condensed magic exploded outward, forcing the darkness back with a howl of pain as a dome of light expanded from his form, extending outward and washing over the dark rocks. The Orcs screamed and scrambled backwards as the light burned them.

From the ground Bilbo was unaware of it all, simply trying to keep the wild magic from tearing him apart.

_Too much, too much, too much . . ._

His blurry eyes picked out movement from next to him and he turned slightly but he couldn't see clearly through his pain.

"Let's get you out of here," a voice spoke, but Bilbo could not hear. The wild magic, satisfied that it had driven back the evil taint, even if only for a little while, snapped back and Bilbo lost consciousness.

When he woke again he would find himself in the darkened woods not far from Dol Goldor with a worried, slightly worse for ware, dwarf hovering over him.

"Ah see you are awake."

Why did he get the feeling that this seemed familiar?

**0~o~0**

**Ah, yes. I bet none of you were expecting that! It's Thorin's dad! **

**(Cackles) **

**I actually do have a plan for this story, I just am having a hard time writing it with my tight schedule and other stories that I have to plan and write. Sometimes the real world is such a pain. **

**Anyway, if any of you have any ideas about what is going to happen in the next chapter be ready, it's a shocker. **

**See you next time (Weeks? Months? Hopefully not as long as last time.).**

**(Updated: 1/1/2016)**


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